


these intangible things

by theadamantdaughter



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Soulmate AU, Zutara, Zutara month 2017
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-08 13:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12865872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: invisible strings tie his heart and hers to an uncertain future, offering visions of what could be, if only the right paths are taken.





	1. ‘oh, you’re in my veins, and I cannot get you out.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for zutara month, day four - enemies to [we could be] lovers

It’s the same every night.

Uncle would gather the crew around a fire on deck, telling everyone to huddle close for warmth. As they sailed further south, fuel and food started running low. The old general was determined to keep spirits high. He would pass around bowls of juk to fill bellies, then guilt Zuko into playing the Tsungi horn —   _an honorable leader spends time with his people —_  while he sang folk songs.

Every night, when the crew relaxed with sleepy smiles and satisfied stomachs, Zuko would hope he escaped. Then his uncle would wind down with a final tune and plop on a stool.

He always starts with a dreamy sigh, then he drifts into a story about his late wife, recounting how they met and fell in love.

Sura is his soulmate, he says, his heart and his soul. He dreams of her frequently. Or, he sees the future they were meant to have together, as their destinies are entwined forever, even from the grave.

Uncle likens the visions to gifts, going on about the spirits and their influence and the path he must take to reunite with his wife. Zuko always pushes back, asking why the spirits can’t let him move on.

He finds it annoying; not the idea of love so much as soulmates… why should he be forced to love someone?

His uncle always winks. “When it happens, Nephew, when you meet her— it’s like everything aligns. You won’t care that you have no choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Zuko snaps. “Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

“You are very clever,” Uncle wags his finger like Zuko’s still a child, “but you are wrong, in this sense. Everything will be touched by her. You won’t be able to look anywhere without seeing her fingerprints, without seeing every moment you will have with her.”

Then, Uncle shrugs, prodding Zuko with an elbow. “Or him.”

He stares for a minute, finally grumbling, “You sound insane.”

Uncle just laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Love is just another form of insanity, Prince Zuko. You will see; when it happens to you, you will see.”

And then it does—

She’s beautiful, that Water Tribe girl.

Their gazes meet, lashes blinking away falling snowflakes.

Zuko stares. For a long moment, all he can see is her smile. It comes with murmured compliments and kisses in bed. It brightens with whispered affections and games of chase in the fire lily gardens. Her eyes light up at his jokes, with his laugh, over gifts of lavender soap... even though, somehow he knows, she much prefers the pine-scented stuff he keeps next to his bath.

Then, that smile vanishes, shattering the mirage in his head.

He watches the girl shake her head, her eyes on the snow, her brows pulled down with confusion. When those eyes snap up, sharp and violent and locked on his, Zuko’s gut sinks.

Through all her strength, he recognizes fear— and he’s the cause of it.

Zuko lets go of the old woman trapped in his grasp. He curses the spirits and sends her stumbling back towards the girl.

Fire leaps from his fingers then, and Zuko snarls, “I know you’re hiding him!”

Surely, it isn’t her.

Surely, destiny wouldn’t be so cruel.

* * *

 

She’s fifty paces from him on Kyoshi Island, clambering onto the back of the Avatar’s bison. Their eyes meet for a brief second, though hers give nothing away.

Her brother shouts her name. “Katara! Let’s go!”

_Katara._

Zuko watches the child Avatar snap the reigns. The bison leaps above the bay’s shimmering waves. He wears a grimace, pretending his soul doesn’t ache as she fades from view.

_What a pretty name._

* * *

 

When Zuko is called in by the warden of some slumpy prison rig, he finds the necklace she always wears around her neck. He remembers it so distinctly from their first meeting in her homeland, from that memory of lavender soap.

He wonders if Katara ever imagines a future where the scent of pine clings to her. He picks up the jewelry, praying for an inkling that she does, that this link between their souls won’t forever be torturous for him.

That’s all it could ever be, right? _Torture._

His status is too far above hers. He’s the Fire Nation’s Crown Prince. He has a duty to his country, a noble destiny. He’s to capture the Avatar, help his father in the war, and bring his nation’s prosperity to the world.

How fitting that the spirits fucked him over, pairing him up with a peasant. That’s all she is— _a peasant_. The hovel she calls home would fit inside the palace.

 _You’re wrong,_ he tells the spirits.

He repeats that alone in his bed, with his hands resting over the aching knot in his chest and his fingers endlessly tracing the silky ribbon around his wrist.

_You’re completely wrong._

* * *

He tries to prove it, choosing a mockery of honor and destiny.

On Crescent Island, he’s sure this is it. He has the Avatar. He’ll steal the boy right out from under Zhao and go home. He’ll forget her. This has to be it.

Zuko pulls an iron chain tight around Katara and her brother when her voice whispers against his consciousness.

_“Whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy, it was your face.”_

He stumbles on that word, reality overpowering the vision of green that surrounded them. _Was._ Why did she use _‘was?’_ Do they somehow become friends?

He imagines leaving this futile quest behind, finding something peaceful and pure. He knows his uncle would be better for it. He’s old and tired. Zuko’s tired.

But just as the hope for a different life wells up, the happy future is replaced by a vision of Katara exploding in his face.

 _“Oh, everyone trusts you now!?”_ The sea crashes behind her. Wind rips through her hair and his. He senses that they’re older, only by a year or so. _“I was the first person to trust you! Remember, back in Ba Sing Se. And you turned around and betrayed me, betrayed all of us!”_

Zuko retracts like she’s slapped him. The chains clatter against her legs. His lashes flutter rapidly, trying to dispel the heinous expression she wore. It’s all the same though: in the present, in the future. Katara’s glaring at him like she’ll kill him if he gives her a chance.

As the temple crashes down around him in the Avatar’s wake, full of lava and heat that can’t touch the fire in her eyes, he wonders if the spirits have a taste for sadism.

* * *

 

“I’ll save you from the pirates.”

It’s cruel and twisted, the way he says it, the way his breath puffs over her face and his fingers ensnare her wrists. It’s cruel and twisted— but the spirits have brought him to this.

Because now, with Katara’s skin turning white where his fingers dig into her soft flesh, there’s no vision, no glimpse of the future they could have together.

Maybe he’s finally won. Chasing her around the world, endangering her and her makeshift family— he’s taken just enough steps in the wrong direction. Something in him aches with the thought because his dreams have been filled with her, filled with swirls of blue and the sounds of rushing water.

Every night, Zuko makes her smile. He runs his fingers through her hair and watches as the sun kisses her nose. He’s always jealous of it, of the gentle caress the golden light can give, and he’s warmed every time she looks up, tells him she loves the amber of his eyes even more.

That’s always the moment he leans in. He wants to press his lips to all the places the sun touches, all the places it doesn’t. Before he can, he jolts awake in the dark familiarity of his room, trying to shake her eyes, her lips, her laugh from his memories.

Still, when he greets the first rays of pink-tinted sunlight on the deck of his ship, when the color reminds him of the flush on her cheeks or how peonies look against her chocolate hair, Zuko clings to those fragments. He wishes for the honorable path, the path that ends with her and a life of peaceful afternoons.

But that’s just the problem, isn’t it? He’s lost his honor. He needs it back. It doesn’t matter the personal cost.

That’s why he ignores the panic. That’s why he pretends not to care about losing her and losing the happy dreams. He holds her tight, pulling her away from the river’s rushing waters. With her wrists tied behind a tree, Zuko throws a hollow threat in her direction:

“Tell me where he is, and I won’t hurt you or your brother.”

Katara reacts as he expected. “Go jump in the river!”

Her gaze is sharp, a cutting contrast to the moon’s soft glow. The blue tracks him from the group of pirates until all that separates them is a single stride. She falters then, her expression shifting from outright defiance to apprehension.

“Try to understand,” he murmurs, aiming for a softer appeal that only she can hear. “I need to capture him to restore something I’ve lost… my honor.”

Katara’s head tilts, a flicker of uncertainty cast his way.

Zuko stares back, with a dozen questions hanging from his lips.

_Does she know? Has she seen his past? Has she been touched by dreams, too?_

He swallows them, forcing himself to maintain his tight control, reminding himself that for every sweet word she murmurs in his sleep, Katara hates him that much more.

Zuko sweeps around her back, untying the necklace from its place on his wrist.

“Perhaps, in exchange…” He pauses behind her, out of sight. “I can restore something you’ve lost.”

Katara jerks, trying to look for him, but freezes the moment he reaches around her, the jewelry stretched between his fingers. Her breath catches, then rushes out with an exclamation.

“My mother’s necklace!”

Katara fights against the rope, trying to break free and steal it. He smirks and holds the blue ribbon with its glistening stone up to her neck.

“How did you—”

The words die in her throat when his fingertips brush her skin.

Zuko suddenly knows what her pulse feels like under his lips, as all innocence and pretense fade away, and she’s no longer bound by rope to a tree—instead, he’s bound up by her whims.

The bark against her back is a cool wall in the palace. His pants are halfway down his thighs. Her dress is shoved up above her hips. There’s a clatter; in the corner of his vision, a gold crown spins across the floor. Then, her fingers tangle in his freed hair and she tugs. His hands grip her ass, and his lips chase the scent of lavender down her throat to her collarbones.

 _“Zuko…”_ She moans his name, low and long. It makes his face warm, his stomach tight with need.

With his tongue seeking out every inch of skin he can reach, his own words, _“I love you, Katara,”_ spill out with blinding pleasure, echoing in their ears when the heat fades, when all the red disappears, and he remembers where they are, who they are.

Her sharp gasp is what clears his mind completely.

Zuko almost asks if she experienced the same thing, but he already knows she did. “Katara, I— ”

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps, yanking on the ropes. Her wrists tear and bleed where the rough knots dig in. “Don’t touch me! Get away from me! _Get away!”_

He does as he’s told after he burns the ropes and rips them loose.

She spins around before her binds even hit the ground, glaring at him.

“Don’t ever touch me.”

Her voice is strong and sure. At her core, however, she looks shell-shocked and frightened. He hates it.

Zuko wants to comfort her. He wants to tell her that he’d never touch her, in _any_ way, if he had anything less than her explicit permission. He wants to say he doesn’t understand the visions either, because what sense does it make for them to be soulmates?

That would only make this all worse. That would make her hate him more.

Zuko bows his head as if to say he’s sorry. He holds the necklace out to her as he does, ignoring the many protests from the pirates.

She’s frozen for a single heartbeat. So is he. Then, Katara lunges forward, snatches the jewelry from his outstretched hands, and darts into the shadows of the forest.

Zuko watches until her shape can’t be seen. His uncle comes up behind him, a hand on his shoulder.

“Nephew?” The old man’s tone implies that he knows. “Are you okay?”

He yanks away and marches back to his ship. “I’m fine.”  

* * *

Zuko thinks about her that night, about that moment in the future.

He wonders if it’s wrong to imagine her like that, to remember how she looked with her eyes half closed and her lips all red and swollen. He can’t help it, though. She’d smiled at him and pulled his hair and whispered _love_ for him between every panting breath.

So, Zuko lets himself get lost in it, in the vision of her mouth half open and her legs wrapped around his waist. Her chocolate hair and chestnut skin clash so perfectly with him.

His heart races. Sweat pricks his limbs. He can’t tell if he’s weak from the sudden release or the memory of how she whimpered his name. That sweet, sensual sound— it’s seared into his brain.

The echo eventually fades as his pulse slows down and guilt follows in its wake. It takes him until the very edge of sleep to realize the reason.

He used to think it was torture, being tethered to her. How much worse does she feel?

Her heart is pure, and her honor is unquestionable. He’s nothing more than a reckless wildfire wreaking havoc on the earth, scaring her and hurting her. No matter how many different ways he sees her, being hers will never be a privilege he deserves.

Zuko fingers the empty space of his wrist, where her necklace used to be.

_Give her someone better than me._

* * *

 

They won’t listen to him.

Despite his hellbent determination to capture the Avatar, Zuko somehow avoids any interaction with her, until—

“I’m perfectly capable of protecting him.”

Anger bubbles up in his chest, a fiery rage meant for the spirits, for the games they play: providing him with this perfect chance to take the little monk and all but halting him in his tracks with that proud statement.

He almost makes her an offer— hand the Avatar over, and he won't hurt her— but Katara takes up a bending stance the moment she sees him, and Zuko knows there’s no point.

They clash and dance in the grass. Their elements kiss, water hissing, fire licking. She holds all the power beneath the moon, and he marvels at how quickly she’s advanced. But, when the sun clips the horizon, he finds renewed strength.

She’s not ready this time, and he’s desperate to go home, to walk out of her life. She’ll find someone worthy of her. He’ll ignore the stinging loss. Katara’s defense fails, and the wooden arch framing the Avatar shakes when she hits a pole.

The soft cry of pain in her chest sends Zuko to his knees.

**_‘No!’_ **

It’s his voice. He’s the one shouting. He’s the one screaming and crumbling and watching white light crackle beneath a blood-stained sky.

Zuko hears it, sees it, smells it when the lightning finds its mark.

Soft blue eyes close for the last time as he reaches for her, but the moment he blinks, all the fire and smoke fade to green grass, to a rising sun, to a sick chill settling in his bones.

Zuko clambers to his feet. He forces his mind to focus on the present, to see only the tranquil waters of the spirit oasis. The airbender is right there. He’s helpless. It would be so easy for Zuko to take him, to run back to the Fire Nation and regain his honor.

His eyes flick to Katara—

 _"When you find your soulmate, the spirits will reveal visions of the future. I had many myself after I met your aunt,”_ Uncle’s wisdom echoes. _“Every choice you make will influence that future, Nephew, so be careful which paths you choose.”_

Zuko leaves the monk alone.

His uncle will purse his lips. His father will declare treason. His mind will scream _“Fool! You fool!”_ But, Zuko’s always been a fool.

He brushes his fingers up Katara’s neck, waits for the faint beat of her pulse, then flees.

* * *

 

Zuko stares out at the frozen water. Uncle works at the raft’s small sail behind him, a dramatic sigh coming now and then. The old man is waiting for answers, but Zuko offers none for a time.

Finally, Iroh presses. “You don’t have the Avatar, Prince Zuko.”

He shakes his head. He could lie. Uncle won’t buy it, but what does it matter?  

Zuko’s lost it all. His crew, his future, his chance at the throne. Katara deserves far better, and Uncle does, too.

“I let him go this time.”

“Oh?” Uncle’s question carries curiosity. There’s no hint of condemnation in it.

“That girl,” Zuko exhales slowly, “Katara. She was with him.”

It’s all so vivid.

The thunderous crack drowns out his thoughts. The flash from blinding white to simmering yellow to deadly red blurs the dark waters surrounding the raft. The sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh makes him double over.

He vomits violently, retching over the raft’s edge.

Uncle is there in a second, wiping Zuko’s chin with the edge of his sleeve, offering a sip of fresh water. He helps Zuko lie back.

“Rest, Prince Zuko. A man needs his rest.”

* * *

 

Azula joins the fray several months later.

Zuko’s attempt to find himself turns into a mad dash after her.

He doesn't want the Avatar anymore. He wants to make sure that vision never comes true, and he knows what his sister can do with lightning. What he doesn’t expect— the blow he thought was meant for Katara pierces his uncle’s chest.

Half of Zuko’s world crashes down in an instant.

The other half stands behind him, her voice quiet and empathetic.

“Zuko, I can help.”

It rattles around his skull _. I can help. I can help. I can help._

Zuko smells the sea. A breeze flutters around him, flirting with the tops of foamy waves, spraying him with salty mist.

Katara wades towards him from deeper water, calling out. “Hold on! I can help!”

As soon as she’s close, her fingers rise to his brow, glowing a soothing blue. A pain he hadn’t noticed abates as she draws her hand away.

“I told you to watch out for the coral,” she admonishes.

Zuko grins sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Just be careful.” Katara nuzzles her face into his neck. “Your people love you, and I love you, but if they were to find out their leader swam right into The Ember Island Reef to avoid an octopus… I dare say it’d be quite embarrassing for us all.”

“I don’t like them!” Zuko protests. “They are weird and squishy and— ”

“— and nothing but birds should have beaks?”

Her laugh tickles across his collarbones. She wraps her arms around his waist, and Zuko kisses the top of her head, smiling like a happy fool.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, this time sad and despondent. The ocean is gone, taking away the warm breeze and her loving smile.

Zuko glances over his shoulder, catching the stares of all her friends. Her eyes wander over him, at first looking star-dazed, like the vision warmed her, too. They were so happy. They could be _that happy._

But, he’s reminded of its impossibility, of the lightning, of what could happen if he gets too close to her, if he lets her help here and now. He has to keep her safe.

Fire leaps from his hand. His face twists into a scowl.

**_“Leave!”_ **

A massive bed and silk sheets materialize in the flames. A little girl with his eyes and Katara’s smile wrestles in his arms, “I didn’t want Daddy to leave, Momma.”

Zuko’s gaze follows his daughter’s to an expectant mother amidst what would be a romantic scene— wine and candlelight and lace.

He has to gather himself because the red fabric against her skin is striking and her hair cascades around her shoulders in luscious curls of chocolate. She’s older, maybe ten years older, shaped with beckoning curves from her pregnancy. She looks like a queen, like _his_ queen.

The smile on her lips shifts from secretive and intimate to something like knowing mirth. Her hand pats the mattress, and the princess squirms from Zuko’s arms to bound across the sheets.

“I learned how to make a dragon, Momma!”

“Oh? Show me, Kya.”

Zuko settles on the bed as fire sparks above the little girl’s palms. The dragon dances around, flickering and fluttering like the real beast.

“It’s beautiful, Kya. You’ll be a master soon, just like your father,” Katara murmurs, leaning back against Zuko’s chest. Her voice drops an octave, “You know she didn’t want you to leave because she wants to learn at least three more forms, right?”

“She’s as persistent as her mother.” He nuzzles Katara’s hair, smelling a hint of pine in the long locks. His lips brush her ear, and he whispers, “Don’t get out of bed in the morning. I’ll make it up to you.”

The fire that conjured the scene dissipates, revealing the desolate landscape and her eyes on him. Her friends drag her away.

For the second time that day, Zuko repeats himself. “I’ll make it up to you.”

* * *

 

His approach is utterly silent, but Uncle’s presence doesn’t surprise him. “You do not look well, Prince Zuko.”

A frown twists Zuko’s lips. “I’m not a prince anymore.”

“Perhaps not in title…”  Uncle lowers himself to the ravine’s edge with a weary grunt.

It’s been a long and arduous recovery for him. More than once, Zuko finds himself wishing he’d taken Katara’s offer. When he falls asleep at night, the lightning cracks across the sky and he remembers why he didn’t.

“Honor is restored within oneself, Prince Zuko. No one can steal it from you. No one can bestow it upon you.”

“If you’re going to lecture me about being a beautiful butterfly...” Zuko scoffs, agitation settling in his bones. “I’m not honorable, Uncle. I’m a disappointment to everyone I cross.”

He’s hurt so many, too many to count. But, nothing compares to the sorrow he’s seen in those deep, blue eyes. _Agni,_ the way she looks at him— her ability to see right into the depths of his soul may only be beaten by the perceptiveness of Uncle.

“Nephew…” The old man tugs at Zuko’s psyche like he can read his thoughts. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Who says anything is wrong?”

His voice comes out choked like it is when he screams at a red sky flashing blue and white. His eyes burn like they do when he sees her, when he smells burnt flesh and the metallic stench of hot blood. And his chest aches, like it does as she dies, like it does when she lives, but she's still not his.

Zuko’s mind flicks to the little girl consuming his visions. She’s always calling to him, squealing happily as he teaches her firebending, demanding that her mother watch.

“Kya,” he whispers. Her laugh echoes in his ears. She sounds just like Katara— so hopeful, so determined.

Zuko swallows a knot, pushing past the threatening tears to speak. “When you first met Aunt Sura… you... you say she’s your soulmate.”

“She is.” Uncle looks at him perplexedly, brows scrunched.

“What was it like to lose her?”

He’s never had the tact for sensitivity. He regrets that now, as hurt flashes across Uncle’s face.

“Uncle, I- I’m sorry,” he stutters. “Aunt Sura’s death… it’s difficult to talk about, I understand.” Zuko looks away, his lip quirking as he second guesses himself. What was he thinking, bringing up such a painful history without so much as a warning?

But he needs to know… he _has_ to know.

“Please,” Zuko murmurs, trying softly. “Did you know? When you met her, did you know she would die? Did you know how it would end?”

Uncle’s demeanor changes. The initial wound disappears beneath a sorrow Zuko cannot begin to understand.

Though, somehow, he does. Somehow, he knows the agony of losing the one soul tethering his to the earth. That scares him.

His uncle exhales heavily. “Nothing the spirits give is written in stone, Prince Zuko. They provide different ends to different means, dependent on the choices you make along your way.”

It’s not the answer Zuko hopes for. Uncle seems to sense this. He slides closer, clasping Zuko’s shoulder with a comforting squeeze.

“There are a thousand paths you could take,” he says. “There are a thousand different ends to your life, to your soulmate’s life. When I met your aunt, I only knew that her death was a possibility. I did not know that my failure to protect Lu Ten would be the cause of it.”

That pulls Zuko’s gaze back to his uncle’s, but he’s not seeing Uncle’s muted gold. He’s watching Kya flit in the palace ponds, splashing herself and the turtleducks. He’s walking up and down the palace halls, holding Katara’s hand and listening to her gripe about their son’s delayed arrival. He’s whispering _I do’s_ and _I love you’s_ to his wife, to his daughter, to his newborn boy.

He blinks the images away, focusing on his uncle after a long silence.

“I need you to teach me how to bend lightning.”  

* * *

 

The universe is a fickle thing.  
  
He gets a flicker of hope, and it’s all snatched away, like the smoke from every failed attempt catching the wind.  
  
Zuko pushes to his feet again, his gaze sweeping over the charred landscape. It reminds him too much of her fate.  
  
Is this really how it ends?

* * *

Perhaps, Zuko judged the universe too soon. Perhaps, it’s not entirely slated against him.

  
He climbs to the tallest mountain in the middle of the storm, blinded by rain but spurred on by a vindictive rage. Everything the world has thrown at him… everything the world may throw at her…

“Now I can give it back!”

There’s power in the statement. It feels like electrocution.

The vision of her dying changes as lightning cracks across the sky. His chest burns. His lungs scream for air. He can feel his heart hammering against his sternum, pleading for someone to save him, for _anyone_ to save him.

Zuko collapses with a strangled scream, his kneecaps cracking against the stone.

It’s terrifying, but he’ll take it. He’ll do it. If this is the end… so be it.

* * *

After months in Ba Sing Se, his nights filled with visits from her in his dreams, he tumbles into a crystal-lined cave, landing at her feet.

“Zuko!” Quiet surprise shapes Katara mouth into a perfect _‘oh_.’ Her lips are even prettier than in the visions.

But, Zuko drags his gaze over the rest of her. There’s dirt on her tunic and her right cheek, but she’s not hurt. It comes as a massive relief.

“You’re alright,” he sighs, brushing off as he stands.

“Since when do you care about my well-being?”

Katara crosses her arms, her nose up in the air with what would be a haughty look. He almost gives it to her— she has every right to be stiff and cold. No corner of the world had been safe from him.

Her stance wobbles, though. Her face shifts from defiance to diffidence. “It’s… nice to see you’re alright, as well. Is- is your uncle— ?”

“He recovered well.”

“Good… good.” She nods, her lips pressing into a terse smile. “Your hair looks nice like that… grown out a bit. It looks nice even longer, too.” Katara gestures at her collarbones. “Around here.”  

Zuko blinks at her. “Thanks. Yours, _uh,_ yours looks nice… braided… and down. It’s pretty down.”

“Mhm!” Her brows shoot up and color spreads down her neck, but she doesn’t say anything more.

For the moment, that’s fine with him. They’ve made it this far in one piece, but they’ve always been on opposing sides. And despite all the months he’s spent in Ba Sing Se, Zuko still can’t say who he stands behind— the Fire Nation or the world.

He only wants to keep her safe. That’s all.

As if she can read his mind, Katara breaks the pause. “Should we… talk about it?”

Zuko’s heart leaps into his throat. He tries to sound calm. “About what?”

“All the— I- I don’t know what you’re taught, but I grew up hearing about—” Zuko hears her swallow from across the cave. “—soulmate visions from my grandmother.”

He looks up, hopes he didn’t know he clung to flaring up in his blood. His veins freeze at the harsh look in her eye.

How naive can he be, thinking she wouldn’t hate him?

“I spent half my childhood dreaming about some Northern warrior. He’d show up on the shores of the South Pole with a charming smile and war decorations. He’d be kind, honorable— I’d have visions of a happy, easy future.” Her glare falters. She focuses on her feet. “Instead… you show up.”

Her eyes are on him again, soft blue turning as hard as ice. ”You crash into the village, stomp around, burn the huts, and I’m lost in the fragrance of pine-scented soap. I prayed it was a trick, but all these months later and you’re still invading my head. I can still smell you.”

Zuko holds her gaze until he can’t anymore. Something akin to shame swarms his senses, making his face hot and his chest tight. He chokes on the emotion, wishing he could be better, wishing he could fire back and tell her she’s wrong.

But, she’s not.  

He fights the urge to cry, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Katara snaps. “I mean, what’s one more thing? The Fire Nation’s already taken my family from me. Why not take my dreams of happy future, too?”

Angry tears line her lashes, like little diamonds that glint green with the glowing light in the cave. Katara catches him looking and turns away, crouching down in the dirt at the opposite end of their prison.

“What’s one more thing?” she repeats, her voice tight around a suppressed sob. “We’re soulmates and I can’t even fight it, just like I couldn’t fight when my mother was taken away from me.”

His breath is stolen from him. Zuko takes a step toward her, hesitating with uncertainty. He shouldn’t approach her.

Instead, Zuko’s hands clench at his sides as he searches for the right thing to say. Didn’t Uncle always instruct him in the power of apologies? He tries that.

“Katara,” He murmurs her name carefully, struggling for confidence and sensitivity in the same note. “Katara, I’m sorry… about the visions… about your mother. That’s… something we have in common.”

She wipes her cheeks and turns toward him. “What?”

“I- _uh—"_ Her genuine interest catches Zuko off guard. He rambles his answer, “I was a kid. Eleven. I woke up one morning and my mother was gone. I don’t know if she’s dead or if she just ran away. With my father being who he is, I can’t blame her, even if I’m… sometimes angry...”

He trails off, realizing he’s monopolized her grief. “What happened to your mom?”

“She was killed,” Katara answers quickly, almost like a defense mechanism, “in a Fire Nation raid.”

Zuko gathers that she doesn’t want to say any more about it, either from a lack of trust in him or the pain being too much to flesh out with a near stranger. He doesn’t push anymore, accept to offer condolences.

“I’m sorry. If she’s half the woman you are, I imagine she was incredible.”

“Because you know me so well.”

“Don’t I? In a way? I see our future every time I’m around you. You’re in my dreams… we talk and laugh and… I know you don’t like hot tea, but you love scalding baths. You have a soft spot for little kids. You like teaching. You’re smart and passionate and brave. Doesn’t that count as knowing you? At least pieces of you?”

Katara grimaces at the dirt. He worries he’s made everything worse, but maybe he should take it as a good thing that she’s no longer shouting. Even uncomfortable silence is an improvement.

Just as Zuko resigns himself to sit and wait for some other development, she stands, facing him.

“I’m sorry, too,” she says finally, looking smaller and shy, “for yelling at you before… and blaming you.”

“It doesn’t matter, Katara.”

“No… it does,” she protests. “It wasn’t right. You can’t help this any more than I can. It’s just… for so long, whenever I imagine the face of the enemy, it’s been your face. That’s hard to get over.”

His stomach sinks. “My face…” Zuko touches his left cheek, tugging down on the scarred skin. “I see.”

“No, Zuko… that’s- that’s not what I mean.”

“I don’t care. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not! Why do you always say that? You always say it’s okay and brush away your feelings like they’re nothing, but that’s not how a relationship works!”

He looks at her curiously. Katara’s cheeks flush a deep pink. She bites her tongue when she realizes how much she’s said.

“I—” She clears her throat and fidgets. “You’re not the only one having dreams…” she mutters, looking down at her feet. “You’re not that special.”

“Oh?”

A tiny smile cracks on her face and her blush worsens. It’s the first time Zuko can breathe around her, with a teasing smirk on his lips and a laugh in his chest.

Just as quickly as his lungs expand, Katara’s hands fly to her neck and she pulls a vial from beneath her tunic.

“I might be able to heal it though… your scar,” she gestures at his eye, “if you’re self-conscious about it.”

“It’s a scar. It can’t be healed.”

“This is water from the Spirit Oasis…” Katara explains, ignoring his protests completely. She takes the vial from its cord, holding it up between them. “It has special properties. I’ve been saving it for something important.”

Her fingers brush his cheek. Zuko closes his eyes, barely resisting the urge to lean into her touch.

“I don’t know if it’ll work, but…”

He smells lavender. He senses her thumb hovering millimeters from his lips.

Zuko doubts the water will do anything, but she’s soft and cool, like a babbling creek. He’s felt this gentle caress a dozen times in his dreams— the spirits remind him of every single one, showing him every kiss she bestows on his left cheekbone, every brush of her thumb along the line of scar tissue and smooth, ivory skin, every whisper that he’s handsome and she loves him.

The visions dance across the back of his eyelids and when they fade, he looks at her again.

Katara’s lashes are wet, but her palm still cups his face. “You’re not a Northern warrior…”

“No, I’m not.” Zuko reaches up, wrapping his fingers around her wrist delicately.

“You’re from the Fire Nation.”

“The one and only banished Prince.” He says it sarcastically.

Katara isn’t fazed. “That doesn’t mean you’re not kind,” she whispers, “or honorable.”

“It means you deserve better than me.” He tugs her hand away. It will be easier for her if he keeps her at bay, if she has no attachment to him. He’s supposed to die for her anyway.

Zuko turns his back to her, hating himself in that moment. “Save the water for someone else.”

* * *

 

Azula never comes for them. How typical. Maybe she hopes they’ll kill each other, doing all the work for her.

But the cave is quiet, peaceful. From the pangs in his stomach, Zuko guesses it’s late. Katara is curled up on her side, her back to him.

Is that a sign of trust? He swallows, wondering if he trusts himself. So much of his soul is begging to go with her, to leave this cave and Ba Sing Se and teach the Avatar firebending. His heart aches.

But he _can’t_ give in _._ The smallest sign of loyalty to Katara won’t go unnoticed by Azula. She’ll capitalize on it: hurt the waterbender to hurt him. Even with his intentions to save Katara, Zuko doesn’t want to risk it.

She shivers in a dream, distracting him from his thoughts. Zuko climbs to his feet, shedding his green kimono as he does. He’ll be fine in pants and a sleeveless tunic, with firebending to keep warm and all.

He drapes the kimono over her. The added heat makes her stir, but all he gets is a sleepy stare before she closes her eyes again. It makes him see mornings spent laying in bed, marked with kisses down her neck and laughter tickling his skin.

Zuko hisses through his teeth. He has to stay distant. She has to stay safe. Then, he retreats to the opposite side of the cave.

* * *

 

The sky is red, so red. Like blood.

His tunic is warm and wet.

Zuko looks down, finding the source of the sticky heat, the smell of iron and death. Blue eyes flutter, holding desperation and dread until they hold nothing at all. He panics, cries, shouts curses at the fire surrounding them.

“No. No. Katara, _no!”_

Lightning crashes, thunder rumbles, drowning out his screams. She’s supposed to live. It’s supposed to be him.

“Katara!”

Zuko bolts upright, blinking sleep from his eyes. The cave has turned into a cloud of brown dust and scattered crystals. Two figures move among the mess, one small and agile, the other thick and portly.

“Aang?” Katara’s soft voice is the first thing to make sense. “Aang! You came!”

His uncle materializes in the gloom next, pulling Zuko up and into a hug. Zuko stares over Uncle’s shoulder at Katara.

Her eyes are begging him, but the dream is too fresh. It has to be a warning, a reminder. _Stay away or she’ll get hurt._ His fingers shake. His stomach churns. He can’t breathe.

Zuko looks down at his feet. He can feel Katara’s heartbreak as she walks away.

* * *

His ears ring with the crack of lightning, with her screams as the Avatar fell.

_“I was the first person to trust you!”_

His eyes water with the memory of tears staining her cheeks.

_“Remember? Back in Ba Sing Se?”_

In the end, it all makes sense.

_“And you turned around and betrayed me, betrayed all of us!”_

Zuko stares down at the black sea, white-capped waves spreading out in the wake of his sister’s warship.

_Aang. Sokka. Toph. Katara. Uncle._

If only he could count himself among them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize if the ending feels abrupt to any of you. While the conversation inside the Catacombs is different from canon, the events that follow are not. I didn’t want to reiterate everything we already know.


	2. 'oh, you're all i taste, at night inside of my mouth'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for @zutaramonth — day twenty-two, (so many) regrets

_‘That’s something we have in common.’_

The phrase follows Zuko everywhere: through halls, around the gardens, into his dreams.

He thought, being back home, being surrounded by sweltering heat and regaining his honor, that he’d forget the icy blue of her eyes.

Yet, he distinctly recalls the way those eyes softened when he revealed the broken pieces of himself. His heart tugs at her quickness to forgive him, her eagerness to help him, the smell of lavender that came off her skin when she stood before him.

Katara recognized his pain because it was the same as hers. She flooded his veins with hope because hope filled her. She touched him: his mind, his heart, his soul. She understood him, which is more than he can say for anyone in the Fire Nation.

He prays—  _Agni above,_ he prays she still does.

 

* * *

It’s been two months.

Reports of strange happenings in the Fire Nation’s outskirts and colonies trickle through the palace. A blind, gambling girl runs amok. Some vibrant boy attends a school for just three days. There’s a dance, two parents by the names of Wang Fire and Sapphire Fire. Zuko has his suspicions, but he forces himself not to care.

It’s the stories of a waterbending spirit that make his breath stop.

By the turtleduck pond, Zuko tells his mother’s ghost about it all:

“She healed the sick in Jang Hui. She cleaned the river, destroyed the metal factory there, and drove the soldiers away. Father’s demanding information about her identity, but... The people are flourishing again. They’re healthy again, thanks to her. I’m not opening my mouth.”  

He imagines his mother asking _‘who is she, my son?’_  The Fire Princess was always an attentive listener, carefully following his stories when he was child, showing genuine interest in the things he had to say.

And Zuko bites his lip, his eyes clouding with tears.

When the tears leak down his cheeks, he fights a bout of regret, fights the urge to list every way he’s harmed her and all the ways he can try to make it right. It’s no use, anyway. He’s the Prince. His place is here.

Still, despite himself, Zuko smiles, smiles at the tranquil water and the daisies that adorn the pond’s edge.

“I think she’d love this place as much as you.”

 

* * *

“This isn’t what I pictured when I imagined you coming home.”

Zuko’s done everything he can to avoid being one-on-one with her, but Mai finds him at the edge of the turtleduck pond, despondently throwing chunks of bread to the quacking birds.

A pair of ducklings squabble over a piece, resulting in the smaller of the two tipping over and the mother paddling over with a warning squawk. He smiles, but Mai rolls her eyes.

“What is your obsession with this place, anyway? There’s _actual_ entertainment in the palace. General Chan is prancing about with his sideburns out to here.” Mai holds up her hands on either side of her face. “You remember how he is.”

She tries to tug him from the ground, but Zuko shrugs her off. “I don’t care about Chan. Or his sideburns.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“What does that mean, Mai?”

“You don’t care about anything,” she grumbles, blatant irritation all over her face. “You have everything you could want: thousands of servants, endless money, all the fruit tarts you can eat—”

“Everything you’re listing, I’ve gone without,” Zuko snaps, glaring at the rippling water. “It’s not important to me anymore.”

“Then what is? What’s so important to you?”

Zuko looks up at her for a breath before his eyes narrow. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes!” Mai practically shouts, her arms crossing over her chest. “Since you can’t be bothered with what I like, maybe if I know what _you_ value, our conversations won’t feel like pulling teeth!”

“Our conversations feel like pulling teeth because I don’t want to have them.” His voice is harsher than he means, but he’s reached the end of what little patience he has. “I know it’s a shock to you, Mai, but living as a fucking fugitive for three years changes a person.”

Her expression stays blank, except for the wrinkle of anger between her perfect brows. Zuko dumps the crumbs from his lap into the pond and stands up, closing in on her.

“I’m not the little boy you had a crush on, Mai. I don’t even remember that boy!” Zuko snorts derisively, his fingers subconsciously going to the left side of his face.

“Or maybe I do,” he mutters, dropping his hand from his face. “Maybe I’m finding that boy again, the one who cared about people, and that’s why I don’t give a shit about your stupid pastries or find amusement in torturing the servants.”

Mai laughs cruelly. “Azula’s right. You really did turn into one of those Earth Kingdom peasants. What are you going to do? Renounce your title and settle down? Did you find yourself a little peasant wife, too?”

It hits too close to home, her jibe about a wife.

He prays for a life with Katara. But, the thought of her reminds Zuko why he’s here, why he chose to leave with Azula. The dreams of her dying in his arms still haunt him— her broken breaths, her ragged tears, her bloody fingers grasping his shirt as the light leaves her eyes.

He made the right decision. It doesn’t matter how much it hurts.

Zuko stays silent, his eyes falling to the ground, and Mai’s tone changes to one of scolding.

“Worrying about those people is pointless, Zuko. You’re the Crown Prince. Your job is to care about your nation, not the cannon fodder in the Earth Kingdom.”

 

* * *

A day later, he learns the people in the Earth Kingdom aren’t cannon fodder; they’re kindling. His father is going to burn the entire world to the ground. Zuko might be the Crown Prince, but he’s also the great-grandson of Avatar Roku— he should say something, right?

He doesn’t, and shame sears his soul. But, Zuko stands taller when the eclipse comes and he faces his father, finding _true_ honor.

As his war balloon surges in the wind, Zuko stares after the bison, his eyes locking on the speck of blue crouched in the animal’s saddle.

Katara of the Southern Water Tribe.

He fought it at first. He denied it. He cursed the spirits day and night. Somehow, she’d found a way around his defenses, and now, this is all for her.

Live or die, he’s going to help save the world, because she has to live in it.

He’s going to save _her._  

 

* * *

Of course, she doesn’t need saving. She can fight for herself, the prodigious waterbender that she is.

Zuko gets on his knees for her, offers himself to her, and water slaps him in the face. He falls back on his elbows, closes his eyes against the torrent, but the backs of his eyelids do nothing to block her out.

He wonders, almost aloud— how is it possible that she becomes even more beautiful with age? How does her skin look like melted chocolate in the candlelight? How does her hair shine even more than the red silk sheets across which it spills? How does she steal his breath with a kiss, stop his heart with a hiss, send tremors through his limbs by moaning against his lips?

Zuko sits back on his heels, his knees spreading hers, his hands skimming down the front of her.

Katara arches over the mattress, pushes her breasts into his palms, writhes when his fingertips tickle the insides of her thighs, dip into the slick heat between her legs, push inside her wet sex and curl slowly.

She says something, soft and keening. It’s indecipherable, and he leans forward, kissing her sternum and her stomach, down to her hips.

“Tell me, my love,” he murmurs, lapping her clit until she whines again. “Tell me what you want.”

Zuko looks up, up her body, meets those blue eyes that see every fiber of his being. He holds her gaze and watches those blue eyes change.

They ice over.

The vision’s gone. The stone floor of the air temple cuts into his skin and Zuko wipes water from his face. When he dares look at her, she’s a picture of fury: chest heaving, cheeks flushed.

Because of the vision? Because of him?

Katara balls her fists, gulps for air.

“I want you to leave, Prince Zuko.”

And, he can’t blame her.

 

* * *

That night, tucked in the shadow of his stolen war balloon, Zuko dreams of her, of what she wanted in the vision.

He puts his mouth everywhere she asks, touches her in every way she demands, fills her up and pushes her over the edge of bliss. He follows, closing his eyes as the last drops of pleasure leave his veins.

When he opens them, Zuko finds himself staring up at the night sky, owls hooting nearby.

He wonders if Katara lied. He wonders if what she wants is this future with him, but, like him, she doesn’t know how to reach it.

 

* * *

 

Despite his transgressions, despite his endless torment of them for so long—

“So, here you go, home sweet home, I guess. For now.” Sokka holds open a door, gesturing for Zuko to go inside. “Unpack? Lunch… soon? _Uhh—_ welcome aboard.”

Zuko turns around in the middle of the modest room, smiling in a way that he hopes if friendly. He doesn’t know though; he’s never had a real friend. From the way Sokka shrugs and shuffles out, Zuko assumes he never will.

Sighing, he dumps his bag on the bed. The contents spill out, and Zuko picks up a portrait of his uncle. They’d been here once, over three years ago. He distinctly remembers the old man clapping his shoulder and telling him about destiny’s mysterious ways.

Did Uncle have any inkling of the truth that statement held?

Zuko smiles again, privately, and sets the picture on the windowsill.

He’s on the verge of praying his uncle is safe when he hears movement to his right. Zuko glances at the door, finding Katara leaning against the frame with a scowl on her face.

He tries to say something, but she beats him to it:

“You might have everyone else here buying your _transformation_ … but you and I both know you’ve struggled with doing the right thing in the past.”

She moves into his room, comes so close to him they might as well be back in the Crystal Catacombs.

“Let me tell you something, right now. You make one step backward, one slip-up, give me one reason to think you might hurt Aang—”

“I won’t,” Zuko says. His voice shakes, but she seems taken aback that he’s spoken at all. He licks his lips quickly. “Katara, I’m not going to hurt him. You don’t have to worry.”

“I don’t?” She glares at him, her face twisted up with anger. “You’re the reason we lost Ba Sing Se, Zuko. You’re the reason Aang fell, the reason he can’t go into the Avatar State anymore, the reason the world thought _he was dead!_ If you’d just come with me—”

“I couldn’t, Katara! You would’ve been hurt!”

“I still was!”

She screams it, so loud his ears ache. For a second, he fears another jetty of water will steal his breath. Instead, Katara steps away from him, and what she says is more painful than drowning.  

“I was ripped in two.”

 

* * *

Zuko tries everything with Katara. He brings her tea in the morning, which she hates because he’s terrible company. In the evenings, he helps with the dishes, which she resents, because she’d rather he’d helped her in Ba Sing Se.  

She tells him that, again and again, doesn’t give him the time of day outside of terse remarks and tense conversations when no one else is around.

_I don’t care what the spirits show us._

_I trusted you._

_And you betrayed me._

_You betrayed us all._

If he argues back, if he so much as opens his mouth, she turns on her heel and walks away, leaving him standing there with frustration tugging at his features.

Katara _does_ trust him, though; maybe not with her thoughts, but with everyone else. She can deny it all she wants— She doesn’t hover when he’s alone with Toph. She laughs when he cracks a joke at Sokka’s expense. She lets him leave the air temple with Aang.

She trusts him. Enough. Enough to give Zuko hope. Enough that he _keeps_ trying.

 

* * *

“Pretty clouds.”

Zuko glances over his shoulder at Sokka. His heart is pattering in his chest nervously, making his mouth dry and the task of finding anything intelligent to say near impossible. The best he comes up with, “Yeah, fluffy.”

He doesn’t know what to add after that. Zuko pretends to be busy with the furnace.

Sokka starts whistling.

“What?”

The outburst startles the warrior.

“What? Oh, I didn’t say anything.” Those sharp blue eyes flick around, scrutinizing everything but the firebender. “You know, a friend of mine actually designed these war balloons.”

“No kidding.”

“Yep, a balloon… but for war.”

“If there’s one thing my dad’s good at, it’s war.”

“Yeah,” Sokka shrugs, nonchalantly, “it seems to run in the family.”

He’s probably trying to make a joke, but frustration pipes up in Zuko’s chest. He throws another fistful of fire into the furnace, wishing he would sink through the floorboards.

This whole thing is going swimmingly, he berates himself. Without the buffer of Toph or the thick-as-tar tension that comes with Katara, it’s suddenly leagues harder to be around Sokka. All he can think about is rampaging through Sokka’s village, chasing him and his sister and his best friend around the world, breaking his spear—

Zuko huffs and closes the furnace hatch. “Not everyone in my family’s like that.”

“I know, I know. You’ve changed.”

“No, I meant my uncle,” Zuko says, facing Sokka. “He was more of a father to me. And I really let him down.”  

For a moment, Sokka appears to be thinking. He tilts his head, his eyes flicking over Zuko’s face. The Prince wonders what on Earth could be so interesting when Sokka finally breaks his silence.

“I think your uncle would be proud of you.” His voice is upbeat, encouraging. It makes Zuko flicker with pride. “Leaving your home to come help us? That’s hard.”

His pride falters. Zuko’s shoulders sag. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Really? You didn’t leave behind anyone you cared about?”

“No.”

Zuko bites his lip. His answer was quick, too quick. He turns away, resting his elbows on the war balloon’s railing, and prays he can find something else to discuss before Sokka presses him.

But, he’s still tongue-tied and the Water Tribe warrior is sharp.

“You just… came after someone you cared about,” Sokka says, knowingly.

Did Katara tell him? Zuko squints at the clouds, swallowing his nerves. “Um, no?”

“You’re a great liar.”

In the corner of his vision, Zuko feels Sokka staring at him, one brow hooked upwards. His bare arms are crossed. He’s cocky, daring Zuko to elaborate, even though he already knows. Or has a feeling. Or maybe he doesn’t know anything, and he’s waiting for Zuko to confirm it so there’ll be fresh gossip around the campfire.

Zuko risk a glance in Sokka’s direction. “I’m… not telling you anything.”

“Fine,” the warrior shrugs.

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine. Keep it to yourself.” That smart-ass smirk reappears, bringing thick silence with it. Sokka looks at him and Zuko glares back, until Sokka’s expression shifts to one of suspicion. “So, Katara’s just… you didn’t, in the Catacombs… nothing—?”

“What?!“ Zuko catches Sokka’s meaning almost immediately and nearly falls over at the implication. “Shit! _No!_ I’ve never touched her.” Then, he’s bright red and sweaty and stammering way too much. “I mean- I— Not yet. I haven't yet. I haven’t touched her, but— Um... At this point. At _some_ point—"

“What.”

“What?” Zuko squeaks, gulps down oxygen like it’s water.

Sokka’s on his feet in a second, closing the bit of distance between them. “Not yet?! Are you planning on it or something?” His fingers fist Zuko’s shirt. “That’s my little sister!”

“It’s not like I purposefully think about it!” Zuko scrambles. “These crazy, spirit visions keep fucking with us and I—”

“Wait. Wait…” The expression on Sokka’s face goes from fury to confusion, then light slowly dawns in his eyes. “Oh, god. Holy fuck. You’re soulmates.” He lets Zuko go then, rubbing his forehead. “You’re Katara’s soulmate? You’re her soulmate!”

Zuko cringes and tries to back away, now that he’s free, but Sokka looks at him funny.

“What are you doing?”

“Uhm… jumping overboard before you throw me overboard?”

The warrior shrugs, “Can’t say I wasn’t considering it.”

“See?”

“Well, not anymore. I thought about it when you said _‘yet.’_ ”

“Oh. That’s… understandable.” Zuko forces himself to relax, then clears his throat.“ So… you- you know about the soulmate visions?”

“Yeah. I started having them in the Northern Water Tribe.”

“What happened?”

“She turned into the moon.”

“That’s… rough, buddy.”

“It’s okay.” Sokka flops down on their bags, again. “I knew going into it… Soulmates aren’t always for life. I was meant to protect her, and I did, until I couldn’t.” His eyes cloud for a moment. “I think people can have more than one, sometimes. Even without them, I think people can find happiness.”

Zuko swallows. “Are you? Are you happy?”

“Mostly. I have my sister, and Toph and Aang are good friends. I’m happier when I’m with Suki, but… that’s another woman I’ve failed.” Sokka glowers at the floorboards. “Azula has her.”

“She won’t always, Sokka. The war will end. Look, we’re already making one thing right by going after your dad.”

A hesitant smile forms on Sokka’s lips. “Aang’s positivity’s rubbed off on you, huh?”

“Maybe a little,” Zuko says. He turns back to the furnace, opening it and stoking the flames again. “Or, maybe it’s Katara, and all her hope.”

 

* * *

That hope follows him through the Boiling Rock.

The fear’s easier to stomach, with visions of her smile and her laugh. Even when he’s caught, and anxiety threatens to drown out everything else— he’ll be sent home, he’ll be executed— Zuko leaves little room in his thoughts for anything but her, anything but getting back to her with Sokka and Hakoda and Suki all in one piece.

 _Agni,_ if they could just find Hakoda. Zuko breathes out a fire-laced curse, curling up tighter inside the cooler.

His fingers are freezing, trembling as he tries to hold a flame above them. He gives up, stuffing his hands under his arms and spitting fire through his teeth.

 _Remember your breath of fire,_ Uncle’s voice echoes. _It could save your life out there._

Zuko rests his head against the metal. “I will,” he murmurs, shivering.

He forgot how taxing it is, though, keeping his body and blood warm enough to live. His eyelids are heavy, and getting heavier. Zuko breathes in, calls heat and chi into his lungs, but all he gets is steam through his nostrils.

It’d be so easy to sleep.

So… so easy…

“Don’t close your eyes, Zuko.” Katara’s command rings loud and clear.

Zuko bolts awake, blinking against the sudden change in the light, in surroundings. He’s dressed in blue furs, with leather gloves and boots. Snow surrounds him, dusts his eyelashes and melts in his hair, but somehow he’s warm.

He warms further when he looks over the tops of a dozen penguins, spots Katara among them, hears her giggle flutter across the snow to tickle a laugh from him.

“Okay,” Zuko pushes through the flock to reach her. “Don’t close my eyes. What else?”

She produces a fish from a satchel at her waist and tosses it to a chosen penguin. “Don’t let go.”

“Okay, Katara.” The snow, the squawking birds— they’re gone, but he answers her anyway, breathing fire in ragged gasps. “I won’t let go.”

“Promise?” Katara’s smiling up at him, holding his left hand in both of hers.  

The finest, blue silks adorn her. Her hair cascades from a golden, crescent pin. Around her neck, she wears that familiar moonstone, held there by an intricately carved, silver band.

Zuko thumbs the betrothal stone’s curved edge, then his fingers move to her jaw, brushing up into the dark curls falling around her shoulders.

He smiles. “I promise. Whatever you want.”

“What he wants—” The vision changes again, to a landscape full of carnival lights and snowflakes and joyous life. They walk in the middle of it all, dodging families and lovers and children alike. Zuko looks up and grins at Kya, who sits on his shoulders and points at different carnival games.

Katara keeps the pace beside him. She has a fussy toddler clinging to her cloak and she pats the boy’s head. “—is for you to breathe fire again.”

She stops beside a booth, stooping to the child’s level, “Is that it, Lu Ten? Do you want Papa to be a dragon, again?”

The little boy nods, fists rubbing his puffy eyes.

“Dragon,” he commands, all nasally and weepy, but slowly growing more enthusiastic. Lu Ten jabs a pudgy hand at his father. “Be a dragon, Papa! Dragon!”

Zuko gets a pointed look from Katara, “Please? I know we talked about not spoiling him like K-Y-A—”

“I can spell!” The princess crosses her arms defiantly, glaring down from her perch on Zuko’s shoulders.

The Fire Lord laughs, “Yes, you can, my darling. You’re so grown up!”

He winks at Katara, then strokes Lu Ten’s chocolate hair to get the boy’s attention and breathes a tiny dragon into existence. It dances from Zuko’s lips around Lu Ten’s head, flickering and glittering. The boy’s eyes widen, so bright and golden, completely delighted.

Zuko makes another, then another, listening to Lu Ten giggle. He clings to the vision when it finally fades, breathing in, breathing out, building the heat in his body and forcing himself to stay awake in the frozen cooler.

For his son. For his daughter.

For Katara.

He hears Sokka’s voice in the hall, and Zuko prays he’s found Hakoda. He prays they can leave this place behind and he can run back to the air temple, beg for forgiveness, for a chance from the waterbender.

And that’s when he knows—

Sokka’s wrong. Happiness can’t be found without Katara, not the kind of happiness he finds in the dreamt future, not the kind of happiness he feels when she belongs to him.

She’s the warmth, the very fire, within in his soul.

 

* * *

 

Even in all the visions, he’s never seen a smile that compares to the one Katara has for her father. Her joy is palpable, lighting up her face and the air temple. It lifts him up.

Then sends him crashing back down.

Katara corners him on the walk back to his room.

It’s late. Moonlight slants through the air temple’s columns, making everything glow an eerie blue. He’s buzzed from the whiskey Chit Sang lifted from the prison’s stash of contraband and caught off guard. Zuko thought she went to bed hours ago, when the younger members of the group meandered to their beds.

“What is it?” he mumbles, a palm braced on the wall to stay balanced.

She’s quiet, and Zuko swallows a jolt of fear that maybe she’s been hurt, maybe she can’t speak from the shock of it.

He steps closer to her, a stride away. “Are you alright, Katara?”

Hesitantly, with her eyes flicking between his, Katara bobs her head.

“Yes,” she says. She licks her lips, then looks down. “I dreamt about you.”

“What?”

“While you were gone.”

“Oh.” Zuko’s slow to process this. Whether his thickheadedness is caused by the alcohol or sheer disbelief that she’s actually speaking to him, without insulting him, remains unclear.

Like he did during the flight to the Boiling Rock, Zuko responds with something less than articulate. “Okay. Um— I hope it was a good dream, I guess.”

Katara sort of shrugs, sort of nods.

“I took you penguin sledding,” she tells him. Her blue eyes focus on his glazed gold. “Then, we ended up at a wedding, which… I think it was ours.” Katara scrunches her brows as color rises on her cheeks. “I woke up after that, and fell back asleep. We went to the Moon Festival. Kya and Lu Ten were a little difficult—”

“I don’t know if they were difficult. Lu Ten just wanted me to breathe fire,” Zuko cuts in. He can’t help but smile. His son’s giggle still rings in his ears. “He was probably tired. Kids always get fussy when they’re tired.”

“You saw it, too?”

“I… think it was more of a vision, less of a dream,” he murmurs, eyeing her curiously.  

Her features have furrowed into a troubled look; the lines between her brows are exaggerated by the ghoulish moonlight. It’s like a knife in his gut.

For him, the visions have been a symbol of hope. He can be someone better, someone worthy of being hers. But, Zuko realizes now, that no matter what amends he’s tried to make, for her, the visions will always be some cruel joke. That’s what she said in Ba Sing Se, isn’t it? She asked for a handsome, Northern warrior and was given him.  

She also touched his face and talked about healing him and called him honorable… but that was before he betrayed her.

Zuko exhales, hard, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Katara, for everything. I am. I don’t know why the spirits matched us, I just—”

His voice breaks and embarrassment flares up, stoking the anger that simmers beneath the surface. He knows it’s self-loathing, self-hatred that’s been beaten into him, burned into his skin; still, Zuko unleashes it on her.

“What do you want me to say, Katara?” He snarls. “I was trying to protect you! Do you know what Azula would’ve… If my sister had even the smallest inkling that you meant something to me... I didn’t want to walk away from you, Katara. I didn’t want to hurt you, but she would have.”

“I was protecting you, Katara. That’s all I was trying to do, because no matter what you think of me, no matter what you tell people about me, I want you to be happy. I don’t care if it’s with me or- or—” He throws his hands into the air, flippantly and furiously. “Or Suki!”

His chest heaves with heavy breaths.

“I just- I just want— I don’t know. I have so many regrets, Katara, but—”

Zuko shakes his head. He should go. He should cower in his room until he’s slept off the liquor and his temper. He huff, making fists, quelling the fury long enough to escape.

He’s not halfway around her when she grabs his wrist.

“What about you?” Katara asks, staring up at him. “Don’t you want to be happy?”

There’s such intensity in her voice, in her eyes. Her fingers soften in their grip, delicately brushing the inside of his wrist. It’s a jolt to his system, taking him back to the catacombs, when she cupped his cheek and brought him back to life, when he’d fucked it all up by leaving her.

 _Agni,_ does he hate himself.

Zuko yanks his wrist free. “I’m never happy.”

 

* * *

Zuko wakes up with the start of a migraine. He slept with his neck at some weird angle, with his shirt undone and halfway off, but his boots still on. His mouth tastes like cotton swabs and the yellow rays of sunlight assault his eyes, like daggers stabbing through his skull.

Even more painful: Glass shatters near his head.

He bolts upright, every atom protesting the sudden movement. He’s ready to blast whoever’s behind him when his eyes finally focus.

“Katara?”

She’s frozen now that he’s staring at her, but in her hand is a broken teacup, and the other, the matching saucer. On his bedside table, is a tray of steeping tea and a second cup, which holds sweet-smelling amber liquid.

“Sorry.” Katara remembers how to breathe. “I- _um—_  I thought, well, you’re usually up with the sun, and you didn’t show for breakfast, so I thought you might be... sick?” She shuffles back and forth on her feet as she talks. “But, I can see that you’re fine, so I’ll just be—”

Katara eyes the door, but Zuko groans as he sinks back down in his bed and she stops in her tracks, brows arched high.

“Are you…?” she asks. “Are you fine?”

“I think I’m hungover.”

“Oh. Well, the tea will definitely help with that.”

“Yeah. Probably.” He rubs his eyes wearily, trying to get at the throbbing between his temples. It doesn’t help, but Zuko finds some relief in the darkness behind his eyelids. “Katara?”

“Mhm?” She’s still there.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d like to go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

Zuko peeks at her. “That’s hard to do with you hovering.”

“Oh! Sorry.” Her eyes go wide. “Well, if you— if you need anything more… more tea or some food… just holler, I guess. I’ll be… around, You know.”

Katara immediately drops the shards of broken glass on the tea tray, stealing glances at him as she scuttles towards the door. It leaves him bewildered. Last night they were arguing and yelling and— No, _he_ was yelling.

“Wait.”

She does, with her back to him, the door part way open. Her fingers still clutch the handle, keeping it where it is. All Zuko can see is her profile, but Katara’s swallow is audible.

“Why?” He sits up, despite the throbbing in his head. “Why are you here, Katara? You hated me yesterday. You cornered me last night. I can’t even begin to understand it! You go between hot and cold, wanting to talk civilly, then letting disgust play out all over your face when—”

“Tui and La, will you _shut up?!”_

She surprises him, stuns him silent, which must be exactly what she wants, because Katara sucks in a deep breath and latches his bedroom door again. She puts her fists on her hips and walks towards him.

“I don’t hate you,” she says. “I never hated you.”

“You’re very convincing.”

Her eyes narrow with a challenge, flicking up and down him. It’s only when color rises on her cheeks and she bites her bottom lip— somewhere around the point of her gaze on his bare abdomen— that Zuko wonders if something’s happened that he missed.

He opens his mouth, turning red, but Katara shushes him again.

“Don’t,” she snaps. “I don’t hate you, Zuko. I was angry with you, but I wanted to talk about that last night, _civilly._ I was confused. I was nervous. I was… trying to find where to start. I wasn’t disgusted. By _anything.”_

“You looked it,” he argues.

“Well, I wasn’t!” Her nostrils flare with a hiss. “You took me off guard! It’s all so dizzying, all these different ways I see you…”

Katara pinches her lips together, then moves back to the tray of tea and pours a cup. Zuko can see her mind working at a hundred miles a minute, probably searching for that starting place, again.

She dumps two sugar cubes in the cup, then gestures at his bed. “May I sit?”

His good brow shoots up, then his eyes flick down the mattress. Zuko can’t form a single thought. He’s stuck on the vision he had when he first arrived, the one of her splayed out on red sheets, pleading his name and tugging his hair. Eventually, his brain thaws out and he shifts so his back is against the wall and there’s room for her on the end.

Katara climbs on beside him. Her feet barely dangle over the edge and she slouches back against the same wall as him. If he so much as shifts, his shoulder will bump hers.

Zuko’s pulse is thunderous in his ears. He tries to ignore it, fights to calm down by watching her slender fingers circle the lip of the teacup. Katara brings it up to her mouth and slurps up a tiny bit.

It’s cute. _She’s_ cute. Zuko smiles at her, that lopsided, silly smile he always hides away, and teases her. “I thought that was for me.”

“Oh…” She glances sideways, blushing like she just remembered. “I meant for both of us to have some, but, um…” Katara nods towards the pieces of porcelain on the tea tray, then holds her cup out in offering. “We can share.”

He gawks at her. He wasn’t expecting that. Or any of this, really. Katara pushes the tea towards him again, and Zuko takes it, sucking down a copious amount to wash away the taste of cotton.

“It’s good,” he remarks, giving the cup back to her.

Katara smiles. “Thank you. I copied your technique.”

“And I copied my uncle.”

“Well, I suppose we have him to thank for this delicious cup,” Katara toasts, taking another sip before lowering it to her lap as silence descends.

She fidgets again, and Zuko watches her lick her top lip clean. She catches him staring. They both flush.  

“So—”

“—Zuko, I—”

They cut off at the same time, staring at each other before looking away quickly, like spooked rabbits. He plays with the edges of his tunic; Katara traces around and around the cup. His mouth is open, looking for something to say, but Zuko remembers what she said about wanting to talk and he lets her go first.

“Zuko…” Katara starts hesitantly. “I... I’m sorry.”

“You- _you’re_ _sorry?”_ Zuko gasps, utterly bewildered. “What are you sorry for? I— I was yelling at you last night. I was- I— I’ve done so many th—”

Katara offers him the teacup again, her fingers brushing his as he takes it. It’s easier for Zuko to stare down at her hands, at _their_ hands. Her skin against his is like an electric shock and he misses the feeling when Katara lets go.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I’m sorry for judging you, and I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you.”

“Katara, it’s— you haven’t—” Zuko swallows. _Where is she going with this?_ “Katara, you don’t have any reason to apologize.”  

“But, I do.”

Zuko shakes his head, confused. His thoughts swarm with all the wrongs he could list off. He’s about to; he wants to. He needs her to know that she shouldn’t be sorry. That _he is._

“All this time, since you sided with Azula in Ba Sing Se, I’ve been holding it against you,” Katara says. “I didn’t want to hear your motive. I didn't even want to talk to you. I managed to convince myself that you didn’t care, that, soulmates or not, you’re only here to get at Aang and wreck us all… but…”

She meets his gaze, her jaw clenched, her brilliant eyes so soft and completely consuming. “You lied to me last night.”

“I- I did?” he chokes.

“You said you’re never happy, but that’s a lie. You’re happy in the visions, in the future.”

“Yes, but—”

“No. Don’t,” she tells him. “Don’t try to excuse my behavior. I’ve been punishing you. I’ve been telling myself all these lies so I’d stay angry and—” Katara looks down, chewing on the inside of her cheek and her breath hisses through her nose.

Zuko waits, scrutinizing the left side of her face in search of answers.

“You were protecting me in Ba Sing Se.”

He nods, “Azula’s ruthless, Katara, and I had this dream, about the lightning, except it hit you instead of me and it felt like a warning. Azula— She’d hurt you just to hurt me. She’d kill you if—”

“I know,” Katara cuts him off. Her eyes are on him again, wide and glistening. “You chose me, you valued me, over yourself and everything you wanted. Then, you committed treason to help Aang. You do more than your share around camp. You’re best friends with Toph. You look out for Sokka. You went with him to rescue my dad… You could’ve died, Zuko.”

She looks like she might cry. Zuko lifts his hand from his lap, intent on covering hers, but he hesitates. His hand falls, his fingers curling up and forming a fist on his thigh.

Katara stops his heart by grabbing his hand herself.

“You care,” she says.

“I do.” _So much that it hurts._

“And you’re still giving me a choice?”

He swallows, thinking of how much it will ache if she chooses someone else, ignoring the pain as it flares up in his chest.

“Always,” Zuko murmurs, entwining his fingers with hers. “As long as you’re happy, I will be, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was… difficult. It’s more transition-focused than zutara-focused, but I felt it was necessary to show how being soulmates affected Zuko’s decision making in the time when he and Katara are not on good terms. 
> 
> For example: If Zuko were Katara’s soulmate, would he send Sparky-Sparky-Boom Man after Aang? No, of course not… It could directly endanger Katara’s life (and what he’s done so far has been with her life in mind). If Katara were Zuko's soulmate, would she continue hating him after he proves his concern for her again and again? No, at the very least, she'd want to talk. 
> 
> In part three, you’ll see events change even more.
> 
> Leave a review!


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